


The Geometry of Everything

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-26
Updated: 2010-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-09 04:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray contemplates square pegs and round holes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Geometry of Everything

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ds Match challenge on LJ.

Ray had never really been a hang-out-with-the-guys type. Okay, he'd played cowboys and Indians with the neighborhood kids when he was nine, and peewee baseball in the sixth grade. And then there had been Stella, and for more than twenty years of his life, that had been pretty much it. But unlike most guys, who swiftly got that itch to go out with the posse for poker nights and fishing trips, he'd been happy with having Stella as the center of his own personal universe. He'd never been a joiner, and he'd always been the kind of kid who only needed one best friend at a time.

After Stella kicked his ass to the curb, he drifted from one undercover assignment to another, which didn't allow for the making of new best friends, not that he felt much like going there again anytime this century. Way he saw it, he'd had someone who had been everything to him, and that had been a fucking stupid idea – romantic, idealistic, okay, but still fucking stupid. So fine, he went out Friday nights for a couple of beers with the guys; the fellas at the chop shop that had been his last assignment had been real friendly – well, until he'd busted them. Socializing was cool, even though sometimes he felt like this alien who'd decided to come to Earth to learn the strange ways of humans.

And then a real alien had dropped into his life, and for the first time in forever, Ray had somebody to play with. Fraser was, well, seriously batshit insane, when you thought about it, but that only made it more logical that Ray would want to hang out with him. Ray'd never quite felt like he fit perfectly in his name, his skin, his job, his fucking _life, _and lately, that feeling had led to him wandering the streets at two a.m., listening to his bones rattle. Now he had somebody who was the definition of misfit as a partner and a friend, the world was starting to make a certain kind of sense.

He'd latched onto Stella early in life because she was beautiful and perfect and she was so at home in the world that he figured some of it had to rub off on him. Now, as he sat on his couch with Fraser, eating pizza and watching the Hawks fucking lose _again, _he wondered if he'd gotten it backwards. The secret was to find somebody else who didn't fit, but maybe not in the same way you did. Maybe the secret to perfection was imperfection squared: two square pegs getting together, leaving round holes behind.

Ray giggled at the thought, and then realized he was on his third beer and maybe it was time to stop. Jeez, he was getting even weirder in his middle age.

“Ray?” Ray turned to see Fraser looking at him, a worried frown creasing his forehead. Ray had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from reaching up to smooth out the lines with a thumb.

“S’okay, Frase, I was just thinking about – psychology.”

“Ah,” Fraser said, in that way that meant, 'I know not of what you speak, Earthling, but I shall pretend that I do.'

“Don't let it worry you, buddy,” Ray said, settling back on the couch, a small smile on his face.

  


    
    
    
    
 

 

 

There was only one problem: he had a new best buddy, but there was one important thing he used to get from Stella that he wasn't getting from Fraser. The obvious solution presented itself: most people on the planet actually had friends _and _girlfriends. He'd heard it was a popular concept.

There was that redhead in Records who always eyed him when he came down to requisition a file. She seemed nice, and she had a low, musical laugh that he liked. He wasn't sure that she was girlfriend material, but that was what dating was for. And to keep on a training wheels level, he asked her out on a Tuesday. Maybe he hadn't dated since dinosaurs roamed the Earth, but he remembered that asking somebody out on a Tuesday meant something different than asking them out on a weekend.

The first date went better than he'd had any reasonable hope of expecting, and she was a pretty good kisser, soft and sweet. He asked her out again, for Saturday night this time.

On Thursday, as they were reviewing the Gratti case in Ray's apartment, crime scene photos scattered all over his kitchen table, Fraser said, “Ah, Ray, it seems that Constable Turnbull has two tickets for Saturday's Black Hawks game that he won't be able to use. I was – ah, that is, they're rather high up, but I thought you might want to – ”

“Oh, hey, Fraser, that's great, only I already got a – ” Okay, that was bizarre; he'd almost said 'date' there, like this would be a date, too. He stopped himself and changed direction. “I mean, I'm going out with Roberta on Saturday.”

Fraser's face didn't exactly fall, but it didn't exactly stay up, either. “Oh. I take it you mean Ms. Kelly, from the Records section?”

Ray scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. That's her.”

Fraser smiled, but Ray could see the corners of his mouth were stretched too tight. “That's wonderful, Ray. She's always shown a marked interest in your attentions.”

“Yeah,” Ray said again. It was weird the way Fraser said it, like he was Stan on _Wild Kingdom_ pointing out the female water buffalo that looked really horny for the male water buffalo. “Yeah. Wonderful.”

Fraser looked at him for another moment, then cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose we should get back to work,” he murmured, nodding at the photos.

“Sure, right, you got it,” Ray said, but it took another minute and a half of staring at a shot of Gratti's mangled corpse before he knew what the hell he was supposed to be doing.

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
“You lost it _where_?”

“Ray, I didn't _lose _it,” Fraser said primly. “I merely misplaced it. No doubt it'll turn up.”

“I know you, Fraser,” Ray said, unaccountably pissed off. He had an hour before he was supposed to be at Roberta's front door, and he'd tried six outfits already, and he only had seven that didn't have holes in them, and now Fraser was yapping at him about a piece of string. “You got fifty-three of those things hanging in your closet. What's the big deal?”

“No big deal, Ray, none at all. It's only that it's part of the official uniform, and I do hate to think it might end up in the hands of a miscreant – ”

“Fraser, I gotta go, okay? But I promise I'll take a look around for your string when I get the chance.”

“It's a _lanyard_, Ray, not a – ”

“Gotta go, 'bye,” Ray said, hanging up in Fraser's ear. Spinning toward his closet, he went rummaging for outfit number seven, only to find it was wrinkled so much it didn't even look like clothes any more.

“Number six it is,” Ray muttered, racing for the bathroom to shave.

The date with Roberta went so well that she came back to his apartment with him. He wished he could remember if it had been his idea or hers, but either way, he ended up sitting there on his couch with his palms sweating while he waited for her to come out of the bathroom. For a minute, he wished he'd taken Fraser up on his offer. He could be sitting up in the nosebleed section, drinking warm beer and eating cold hot dogs and getting his ears blasted by the cheesy organ music, and he wouldn't have to worry about how far Fraser would expect him to go on a second date.

And maybe he was losing what was left of his mind.

When he heard the bathroom door open, he wiped his hands on his pants and took a deep breath. Jeez, you'd think he was getting ready to go into a warehouse full of coked out drug dealers without backup.

“Ray, you surprise me.” Ray looked up, startled, to find Roberta standing at the edge of the couch, something white coiled in her hand. As Ray watched, she unwound it so he could see it better.

Oh.

“I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff,” she said archly.

“Where'd you find that?” Ray asked.

“It was hanging on the inside of the doorknob,” she said. Twirling one end around her hand, she grabbed the dangling end with her other hand and snapped it taut between them. “You like being tied up?” she asked, her lip twisting in a sexy smile.

“Uh,” Ray said, because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “That actually don't belong – I mean, uh.”

Roberta laughed that low musical laugh of hers, and Ray's dick twitched in his pants. “Don't worry, Ray, I won't tell anyone,” she said, before she climbed on top of him like he was a jungle gym.

  


    
    
    
    
 

 

 

“How was your date, Ray?” Fraser's question, loud and cheerful like it was, went through Ray's head like a spike.

“Shhh, do you not have any respect for Monday mornings? Monday mornings are quiet times, Frase, quiet times.” He rubbed at his temples; the headache he'd woken up with Sunday was still clanging around in his head.

“I'm very sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, in almost a whisper. “Are you quite all right?”

“Fine, good, no problem, except my brain is ready to leak outta my ears. No big deal.”

“You've been clenching your jaw again, haven't you? I told you to see your dentist about that; I suspect you're in the early stages of temporomandibular joint disorder – ”

“You're not gonna start on that again, are you? Geez, Frase, you're worse than a wife sometimes.”

It took Ray a few seconds to register the fact that Fraser wasn't talking any more; when he lifted his head, he saw that Fraser was sitting across the desk from him slumped a little, like a puppet with his strings cut.

“How was your date, Ray?” Fraser asked, slowly, deliberately, quietly.

“It was good. It was – fine.” Actually, he'd gotten to second base with Roberta, then taken her home, even though she'd made it pretty clear he could've batted it out of the park. The whole lanyard thing had been – well, when he'd felt the rope touch his skin, he'd actually felt _guilty_, like he was being unfaithful to Fraser somehow, and yeah, he was certifiably nuts.

“Oh, well, that's – good.” Fraser nodded, stiffly. “Did you happen to find my lanyard?”

Ray felt that spike drive all the way through from one temple and out the other. “No, uh, I didn't. Sorry.”

“That's all right,” Fraser said, smiling thinly. “After all, I have fifty-three others.”

  


    
    
    
    
 

 

 

Ray didn't think his day could get any shittier. That had been his first mistake. His day could always get shittier.

Six hours later, he was sitting on a bed in the ER, waiting for the doc to come and finish stitching up his head. Goddamn drunks and their goddamn bourbon bottles; it was just his luck he'd caught the wrong end of a bar fight at two in the afternoon on a fucking Monday.

Fraser had been waiting with him, but finally the guilt-stricken look on Fraser's face had been too much for Ray and he'd asked him to go get him a Coke from the machine. It hadn't been Fraser's fault that he wasn't there right that second; he'd been there half a second later, knocking the bottle out of the perp's hand and shoving him against the bar with such force that Ray wondered if Frase had been watching too many Dirty Harry movies. Luckily, there was no damage done, so nobody had to worry about charges of police brutality while they were dragging the guy off to the lockup and Ray's head was slowly dripping blood on the floor.

“All right, Constable, there's no need to herd me. I'm going.” Ray could hear the doctor's snippy voice from the other side of the curtain.

“Please give him this,” Fraser said. A moment later, the curtain was drawn back.

“Well, Detective Vecchio, here's your Coke. Would you like, oh, about six stitches with that?”

Ray bared his teeth. “Sure. Can I get a side of fries, too?”

  


    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
That night, Ray was lying on his couch, telling himself again and again that it was a really _dumb _idea to piss off the guy who was about to stick a needle in your face.

The knock came on the door around eight, waking Ray from the light doze he'd fallen into since the black and white had driven him home. He shoved himself off the couch and onto his feet slowly, shuffling over to the door. Greatness; about damned time. He hadn't seen Fraser since he'd sent him for that Coke, and this whole hairy shirt thing he had going on was really starting to piss him off. As he turned the doorknob and yanked the door open, he growled, “I was wondering when the hell you were going to get your head out of your ass and show – ”

Roberta was standing in the hall, a shocked look on her face. “Ray, I'm sorry, I came as soon as I could,” she said breathlessly.

“I, uh, I didn't mean – ” Ray stammered, stepping back to let her in and nearly stumbling in the process, “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Oh. Who were you expecting?”

Ray shook his head before he remembered that that was a really dumb idea, too. “It's not important. I'm, uh, I'm glad you're here.”

“I was so worried,” she said, her small hand flying up to touch his bandage. He flinched away when her fingers pressed just a little too hard. “Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Naw, s'okay, I'm just – I was asleep.”

“I should go.”

“No, no, c'mon in, keep me company for a while.”

She didn't sit right away, flitting around the apartment, bringing him pillows and blankets and putting water on for tea. She'd brought chamomile tea, she said, which was good for the body's immune system. Ray didn't tell her the cheap bourbon had probably killed any bacteria that might have wanted to infect him.

Fraser would have made him tea, too, only it would have been some mixture of roots and dried berries he'd found in the woods somewhere, because he was a kook.

Roberta brought in the steaming mug and passed it to him carefully. Ray blew on it for a while, then took a sip. Bleccchh.

“What's this?” Roberta asked, plucking a small glass jar off the coffee table.

Ray squinted at it. “Uh. That's...” He set the mug down, took the jar from her and carefully unscrewed the lid. The smell hit him like a bag of rocks.

Pregnant musk ox mucus. He'd recognize that stink anywhere. The question was, how the hell had Fraser gotten in to leave it? On second thought, maybe that wasn't such a mystery. He'd probably charmed Ray's landlady again and snuck in while Ray was counting z's.

Hastily, he replaced the lid. “That's a – uh, floor polish,” he murmured. Fraser was annoying sometimes, and his idea of medical treatment was totally gross, but he was a good guy. A really good guy.

Ray picked up his mug again and took another sip to hide the smile that was trying to get loose.

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
The next day there was no sign of Fraser either, so Ray called the Consulate and told Fraser to get his ass over here and bring pizza. Fraser showed up an hour later with an extra-large works from Sandor's and a big bottle of Coke. He stood in the hallway looking like a kid called to the principal's office. “Ray, I'm – ”

“Shut up, get in here and cut the pizza,” Ray said, turning aside to let Fraser in. Fraser obeyed, and soon they were sitting at Ray's kitchen table, eating silently. It was a good kind of silence, though, Ray could tell; as he watched surreptitiously from under his lashes, Fraser seemed to visibly relax until he was loose-limbed and smiling faintly as he ate.

“Thanks for the pregnant yak stuff,” Ray said after a while.

The corner of Fraser's mouth twitched. “Musk ox.”

Ray took a swig of his Coke. “Whatever,” he said, pretending to be nonchalant. “Same difference, right?”

“Why no, Ray, in fact, they're two entirely different species,” Fraser said. Ray looked up and saw there was a twinkle in Fraser's eye that hadn't been there an hour ago.

“Well, then, I think you better educate me, Frase,” Ray said, giving back some of that twinkle, though he kept a little for himself.

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
After supper they watched the game, and Ray fell asleep halfway through the third period. When he woke up, there was an old movie playing on the TV and the clock on his wall was reading 12:14.

“Shit,” Ray said, scrubbing his face. “I missed the end.” The last thing he remembered, the Hawks were down by three.

“You didn't miss anything.” Fraser's voice was soft, like the darkness all around them and the glow from the black and white movie. “I would have woken you if there had been any goals scored.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Ray said. He turned his head, which was resting against the back of the couch, to see Fraser's face a few inches from his.

“I'm – worried about you,” Fraser murmured. “Are you sure you're quite recovered?” Ray felt something touch his cheek gently, skirting the edges of the bandage, and then he realized it was Fraser's hand.

“I'm great, I'm good,” Ray said, only he didn't sound good, because his voice was kind of hoarse. Fraser was touching him with only the tips of his fingers; he knew just how much pressure to apply, knew how to soothe without hurting him. Ray wanted to lean into that touch, wanted to let Fraser leave his shit all over Ray's apartment, his lanyards, his boots, his weird tea, his _everything _if that's what Fraser wanted.

He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, opening himself up to Fraser, to whatever he was going to do.

After a few seconds, the touch went away, and Ray could feel Fraser's weight shift on the couch. Ray's heart started hammering in his chest. This was it, this was –

“Good night, Ray,” Fraser said softly. Ray's eyes popped open to see that Fraser was headed out the door.

Groaning, Ray slid sideways on the couch and was out like a light in minutes.

    
    
    
    
 

 

 

  
He was feeling better in the morning, so he dragged his ass in to work and caught up on some paperwork. Fraser, unsurprisingly, was nowhere to be seen, though Ray could feel the imprint of his fingers on his skin all day, like the guy had marked him as sure as that drunk's broken bottle.

He surprised Roberta after work with a dozen roses and an invitation to dinner – he felt like kind of a heel after the other night. He knew he hadn't been as appreciative of her as he should have been, and he said as much over dinner.

Roberta smiled and said all the right things and reached across the table to cover his hand with hers, and Ray should have been over the moon, because she was sweet and kind and there was no good reason why he couldn't fall in love with her.

They made it back to his apartment, and this time he kissed her, slowly, carefully, and she kissed back the same way. They were on the same wavelength, and maybe she wasn't a misfit, but she wasn't perfect, either. She was human, and real, and Ray was good with that, he was.

She led him into the bedroom, and as they reached the bed he fumbled with the light on his nightstand while he kissed her. He felt his hand knock against something, and then there was the sound of something hitting the floor.

“What was that?” Roberta asked, still in darkness. Ray finally found the switch and looked down at his feet, then stooped to pick up the thing that had fallen.

It was a small, carved wooden animal, about eight inches long. When Ray turned it over, he saw the word YAK was written on its belly.

He stared at it like a moron for a few seconds, then looked at his nightstand. The MUSK OX was lying on its side, knocked over by Ray's clumsy fingers.

Roberta was frowning. “What are they?”

Ray shook his head slowly as he stroked the yak's side with a thumb. “They're – square pegs,” he answered quietly, taking a deep breath and lifting his head to meet her confused gaze.

  


    
    
    
    
 

 

 

Ray waited, listening to the _snick _and _thunk _of locks, then the low creak of the huge Consulate door as Fraser pulled it open for him. “Ah, Ray, come in!” he said, as if it wasn't nearly midnight and he was surprised to see him, which was a lie on two counts.

Ray didn't say anything, just walked in when Fraser stepped aside. From the landing on the stairs, Dief raised his head, then plopped it back down again when he saw Ray.

“Some guard dog,” Ray muttered.

“He knows you're not a threat, Ray,” Fraser said mildly, but the smile dropped off his face quick enough when Ray turned to him.

“I wouldn't say that,” Ray growled, taking a step forward. Even in the dim light, he could see Fraser swallow hard.

Ray took another step forward. “Roberta's a real nice lady, Fraser,” he said, voice without inflection.

Fraser didn't quite frown. “I'm sure she is.”

Another step. Fraser held his ground; good for him. Ray reached into his coat pocket and took out the wooden animals, then held them, palm out, to Fraser. Fraser stared down at them for a moment, then lifted his chin and met Ray's gaze, unflinching, unashamed.

_Holy shit_, Ray thought, because it was one thing to _think _it, and a whole other thing to _know. _Every cop understood that.

“I drove her home,” Ray said softly, taking another step forward, and now he could feel Fraser's heat and solidity, the way he was holding himself so still, like he was afraid he'd shatter, pieces flying everywhere. Ray licked his lips. “I drove her home, and I told her I was sorry.”

Fraser kept staring at him, though his expression suggested a guy who’d just jumped out of an airplane and wasn't sure if he'd remembered to pack his chute. “S-sorry for what?” he stammered.

Ray took a deep breath, then slid a hand up Fraser's chest and neck until he was cupping his jaw. “For not figuring out sooner I already found someplace to fit in,” he murmured, leaning in to press his mouth to Fraser's.

Fraser let out a soft 'oh' just before Ray's lips touched his, and then he sprang into action, tilting his head and opening under Ray's mouth and hooking an arm across the back of Ray's shoulders like he was drowning and Ray was the last piece of driftwood in the whole fucking ocean. And really, Ray was okay with that approach, because mother of God, Fraser was kissing him like Ray was –

– like he was _everything _to Fraser.

For a split second Ray was _terrified _by that, because wanting one person to be everything was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place, and what if Fraser was making a mistake? What if he woke up next week, next month, next year and decided Ray wasn't enough?

But all of a sudden, 'everything' didn't seem like a dirty word any more, not with Fraser wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in Ray's neck and whispering, _Love you, Ray; I love you_, like it was just as terrifying to him. Not with Fraser's fingers curving around the sharp juts of Ray's hips, clenching convulsively like he'd never really learned how to hold on.

Ray smiled against Fraser's hair. That was okay; Ray was good at holding on. He'd teach Fraser how to do that, and Fraser could teach him how to carve little wooden animals. It seemed like a fair trade, anyway.  


**Author's Note:**

> First published October 2007.


End file.
